“That sounds fascinating. I have such respect for people who work with their hands, who create tangible things. My job is all spreadsheets and conference calls. Sometimes I miss making something real.”
The dinner progressed pleasantly, and when dessert arrived, a deconstructed lemon tart with lavender cream, I couldn’t help offering my professional opinion.
“The components are technically excellent, but they’re fighting each other rather than creating harmony. The lavender is too strong, overwhelming the lemon instead of complementing it.”
Patricia leaned forward with interest.
“Could you fix it? If you were making this, what would you change?”
I found myself explaining the balance of flavors, the importance of letting each element shine without dominating. Julian watched me with something like pride, and Patricia listened intently, asking follow-up questions that showed she was genuinely engaged.
“You know, we’re planning a major corporate event in August,”
Patricia said as coffee was served.
“A celebration for the successful completion of our sustainability project, assuming Julian’s team delivers everything they’ve promised, of course.”
She smiled at him.
“We haven’t settled on a caterer yet. Would your bakery be interested in handling the desserts?”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“We’re a small operation. I’m not sure we’d have the capacity for a large corporate event.”
“Let me rephrase. Would you personally be interested in creating desserts for the event? We could work around your schedule, and I’m authorized to offer very competitive compensation.”
Julian squeezed my hand under the table, a silent show of support.
“Elizabeth’s work is exceptional. You’d be lucky to have her.”
“I’d need to talk to my boss, make sure it wouldn’t conflict with bakery commitments, but yes, I’d be interested in discussing it further.”
Patricia smiled warmly.
“Excellent. I’ll have my assistant reach out to you next week with details. And Julian, excellent choice in girlfriend. She’s delightful.”
After dinner, Julian drove me home. I was quiet, processing what had just happened. At my apartment building, he parked and turned to face me.
“That was quite an evening.”
“Did you plan that? The dessert conversation? Patricia offering me that job?”
“I didn’t plan anything. I told Patricia we were having dinner with her, and I mentioned you were a pastry chef. The rest was all her genuine interest and your talent speaking for itself.”
“But you knew she might offer me something.”
“I hoped she might see what I see, that you’re incredibly skilled at what you do and deserve opportunities to showcase that talent. Is that so wrong?”
I studied his face in the dim light from the streetlamp.
“I can’t tell if you’re genuinely trying to help me or if this is all part of some elaborate revenge plot.”
“Can’t it be both? I care about you, Elizabeth. That’s real. But I also think the people who’ve dismissed you should be forced to reckon with your worth. Not through sabotage or cruelty, just through reality. Through them having to acknowledge your talent and value because it affects things they care about.”
“This is complicated.”
“The best things usually are.”
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